Page 33 of Have To Be Mine

“It has excellent reviews for its location.”

“Location to what? The nearest gift shop?” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m a Blackwell. We have standards.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to book the Ritz? Maybe a private villa with an infinity pool and a personal chef?”

“That would have been nice, yes.”

“Then maybe you should have handled the accommodations yourself.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe if you hadn’t been at a nightclub until three in the morning with half the modeling agency, you would have seen the email about the original hotel.”

I paused. “What email?”

“The one that said there was a fire. A small one, but enough that they had to cancel our reservations. I got the notification at midnight while I was actually working. I spent two hours finding rooms for everyone on this production at the last minute. In high season. In Corfu.”

“A fire?”

“Yes, Dash. A fire. You know, flames, smoke, the thing that makes buildings uninhabitable.” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with fury. “So forgive me if the accommodations aren’t up to your princely standards, but I did the best I could with zero notice and no help from you.”

“I didn’t know about the fire,” I said.

“Of course you didn’t. Because you don’t read your emails.” She picked up her bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in. You can sleep on the fucking street or stroll down to the five-star and do what you do. I’m sure some woman will let you into her bed.”

I could handle a basic hotel. But that wasn’t what pissed me off. I was Dash Blackwell, and I shouldn’t have to stay in a place where the lobby smelled like mildew.

But I wasn’t about to let Krista know that bothered me. So I followed her through the entrance, my jaw so tight I could feel my teeth grinding.

Tired furniture that had seen better decades was dotted throughout with no particular care. A front desk staffed by someone who looked like they’d rather be literally anywhere else. A vending machine in the corner and a coffee bar that was a basic pot with a jar of instant beside it.

Krista marched up to the desk with that military efficiency I was starting to recognize. Back straight. Purpose in every step. She pulled out her phone and started rattling off confirmation numbers while I stood there with my bag, feeling like an idiot.

I hated that she’d been the one to handle this. No elevators in this place. And I knew there was no way there’d be room service.

She handed me a key. An actual key. I stared at it. I wasn’t aware they even used keys anymore. Even Krista looked a little uncomfortable. “It’s a room,” she said. “We’re not here on vacation. It’s just for a couple of nights.”

The second I was in my room, I was going to start making calls. She might not be able to secure better accommodations but I was a Blackwell. I would absolutely throw my name around. My name opened doors and made rooms, villas, or entire hotels available.

I slid my key in the lock. I heard Krista’s door open but she said nothing. I opened my own door and took a step back instead of forward and bumped into a body. And then I just stood there, staring into my room. It wasn’t a hotel room. It was a hostel dormitory.

Six bunk beds lined the walls. Six. That meant twelve people were supposed to sleep in this room. There were already backpacks on some of the beds. The window was open. I supposed that was to allow fresh air, but it was just hot. The bathroom—if you could call it that—was visible through an open door. Just a toilet and a sink. No shower that I could see.

I turned around slowly to look at Krista, who was standing back to back with me.

“This is a hostel,” I said, my voice remarkably calm considering I was internally screaming.

“I can see that,” she replied.

“You booked us rooms in a hostel.”

“I booked us the only available accommodations in Corfu on twelve hours’ notice after the original hotel burned down.”

I walked over to her room and looked inside. Same setup. Bunk beds. Backpacks. The faint smell of someone’s leftover lunch.

“There has to be somewhere else,” I said.

“There isn’t. It’s high season. Everything is booked. This was the best I could do.”

“The best you could do is a hostel. And somehow, I’m the fuck-up?”

Her eyes flashed with real anger. “Yes, Dash. The best I could do while you were doing whatever it is you do was to find beds for an entire production crew. I’ve got people spread out all over the city. Do you have any idea how many people I had to call? This was all that was left.”